So much more than a game
by Profedericus
Summary: "Isn't the ultimate sign of trust that one dares to sleep next to another? As much as I know your wounds are fatal, I also know that if you wanted to – you would have the willpower to stay awake and keep an eye on me. You are supreme, you are magnificent, your wounds will heal even faster than mine with your magic, but yet you allow yourself the luxury of dreaming.." Thorki.


**I got struck by sudden inspiration to write a fanfiction yesterday evening. I hope you will enjoy the fruits of my hard labour.**

* * *

A man of magic, a man of mischief. As you lie here beside me, I see how you have transformed from being a mere boy of pranks, a boy of trickery… Although you bear a surging hatred within you, you have never resigned from your role of being my brother. You have always been my brother and always will you be my brother.

Wounded as you are, I see a weakness within you. You imagine yourself to be the ultimate villain, an outsider that cannot enter the haven of trust that you imagine I've always been allowed to enter. You trust no man but yourself, but sometimes I wonder if you even dare to do that.

Isn't the ultimate sign of trust that one dares to sleep next to another? As much as I know your wounds are fatal, I also know that if you wanted to – you would have the willpower to stay awake and keep an eye on me. You are supreme, you are magnificent, your wounds will heal even faster than mine with your magic, but yet you allow yourself the luxury of dreaming in the presence of the one you swore was your enemy.

And aren't you _beautiful_ brother? Behind those ice cold eyes is a burning yearning, for what I don't know, a desire to release. Sometimes I think you speak more without words, those times when you just look at me and I know at once what you mean. I need not utter a word for you to read my mind, much to our mother's frustration. Do you remember? Whenever we pulled a prank and were confronted by mother and father, one look from you would tell me exactly what to do. You knew when to keep silent, when to lie and when to admit. Our looks always confused mother, leaving her feeling left out. Father knew from time to time, as if he always tried to decipher our very own special language – but most of the time failing to do so. Oh, wasn't it beautiful, brother? Wasn't it all so beautiful?

I can't help but let my eyes linger on your face. Such pale, exquisite skin dyed in the colours of battle. There's a red string of blood painted from your lips and down your chin. It has dried since long ago, earning a dark and rusty look. Your forehead is decorated with small cuts and bruises, enhanced by splatters of blood. The area around your eyes is slightly purple, also touched by your own deep red. Or is it perhaps mine?

As I sit up, I can't help but groan. You got me good in the chest, you did, and mother tells me I should rest far away from you. She worries. I don't want her to worry. I want you to worry.

It's such a silly request, really. It shames me and I just want to bury my face in my hands every time I think of it. I... I yearn for you, brother. You have always been such a close part of my life, but yet so far away, like you always knew something I didn't. Whenever I asked you a question you did not like, you would give me this look with a mix of superiority and knowledge. Father sacrificed an eye for wisdom, but sometimes it feels like you are far wiser than any existing creature in this world. You wouldn't answer my question and skilfully lead the conversation in another direction. You always knew that I knew and therefore made no effort to conceal it. You always knew that I could see what you were doing; you knew I wasn't only the hot headed grunt that many people imagined me to be. So, maybe I have a temper, maybe I am impulsive, but only you know of the calm part of me, the part that only appears when I'm with you.

Calm, is that what I am now? I don't know. Hours ago, you and I were almost smashing each other to bits and for what? For a silly argument. For a silly, silly argument...! It is absolutely unbearable, how can it be that the mighty me and the wicked you clash with each other over such silly things as why father has fallen asleep again?

My thoughts grow silent. You do not reply. All this rambling in my head, and you have not answered one question I've posed. At one point, when I was younger, I actually believed you could read minds. You always seemed to read mine so well, and at the time I didn't really mind. At the time, my thoughts weren't so filled with... confusion. I may have feared your skills many a times, but never, ever, dear brother, have I ever feared _you_.

You grunt in your sleep. Your eyebrow twitches and you draw a deep breath. Cough. I have never seen you so vulnerable before, so mortal. I can't help but let my hand reach out and touch you. I can feel your chest rise slowly under the white cover, and then sink. I can feel your ribs through the thin fabric; my fingers place themselves comfortably on one rib each. You are so beautiful. You _feel_ so beautiful. You cough again.

I withdraw, scared that I was the one who caused you such distress in your sleep. But I can't help myself; my hand once again closes the distance between us. I let my finger lightly trace the shape of your jaw, your chin and finally up to your lips. Oh, how perfectly shaped lips you have brother! I rest at the middle of your lower lip, ever so slightly wiping away some newly coughed up blood.

" Why is it that forbidden fruit always seems to taste the best? " I ask myself in a low whisper.

You do not reply.

" I have... " my voice is husky and thin. I clear my throat and try to talk again. " I have always... admired your knowledge, your wisdom. How come you never shared it with me? How come you never let me come close? "

I feel the tears burning behind my eyes as you do not reply. You just lie there, looking ever so weak and frail. Your clothes are neatly folded on the nightstand table and your helmet lying on top of them in perfect symmetry, exactly in the middle. I want to move it slightly, tilt it a bit more to the left, make it much less aesthetically pleasing to your eyes. You always hated it when things were a mess, you hated it when it wasn't clean, you hated it when there was no order to be found.

So could you please, please my brother, put things in order for me?

My mind is chaos. I feel like a shell growing thinner and thinner for every day that passes, leaving more space for complete anarchy to arise. It's a thunderstorm of feelings, values, rational suggestions, lack of hindsight and complete and utter confusion. It's eating me up, making me blind to everything but you.

Please, please my beautiful brother...

My tears soil the white covers, giving them a slight shade of grey. I have never been one for crying, always seeing it as a sign of weakness, but now I simply can't help myself. I sit with my legs crossed, leaning forward and crying everything I have into the palms of my hands. I am so astounded at the amount of tears that just keep falling from my eyes. Such immense pain and loneliness strike my chest and I have to make a sound. It feels like such a pathetic sound, this sobbing and almost retching coming from me. It feels like a stab in the back every other second and I just can't stop it. There are tears and unmistakably snot all over my right palm, such a pathetic sight if it ever was to be seen. I wipe it away on the sheets and try to breathe, try to stop. I finally manage to calm myself down, but the tears... It is as if they are fleeing from me, escaping me, as if they've found an escape route – a hole in my system. I just stare at the ceiling, resenting myself for all the thoughts I have, for all the undesired and unwanted feelings inside of me.

Then I feel it.

Your hand. Your hand grasps my left knee and as I look down at your eyes that are slightly opened.

" Brother, " you croak, quite possibly breaking my heart while doing so. You look so frail, so fragile, so... delicate. " Why, what thoughts are clouding your mind? "

Oh why, why do you always know?

I try to answer, but all I can manage to produce are incoherent sounds and bits of words. You squeeze my knee in a feeble way; you know, you understand.

" Please don't make me feel so far away, " you whisper. " come closer to me. "

My heart is beating fast as I carefully lay down beside you. Your eyes are now closed and you breathe deeply, wiping away blood from your mouth. What have I done?

" I will recover, I will. " you say. " Don't you worry. "

But we both know you wouldn't even be in this state if you had actually fought back.

" Why is it, " I start to say, but trail off into my confusion. No. Don't.

" What? " you say after a while, still not opening your eyes.

It's burning. It's burning inside of me; can't you see what is happening? Why brother, oh my so insightful brother, why can't you see what is happening inside of me? Why won't you look, why won't you see, why won't you _understand_? I'm tearing myself to shreds in this confusion, in this thunderstorm, in this shell – in this shell I am lonely. Why can you not feel it? It is as if I'm caught in a bubble of air that has its' very own atmosphere of loneliness, only I can experience it, live it. Oh why, my beloved Loki, why can you not feel it too?

Your hand reaches out. You open your eyes ever so slightly and carefully guide your hand towards my face. I close my eyes. I feel your hand gracing my cheek, your thumb wandering over my mouth. I kiss it softly, making you stop in your movement. I kiss it once again, this time letting a small sound be the proof of the connection. Your hand moves down along my neck, oh so slowly, and stops on top of my chest.

" Is this your pain, my brother? " you ask and move towards my heart. I can do nothing but nod, my eyes feverishly searching for yours. " Then let me ease it. "

Finally you meet my eyes, and you look so certain. So sure, so chillingly confident and definite. But now, I am the one trying to decipher you. Your look. I don't know what I'm seeing in your cold irises, I don't understand what you're thinking. Then again, I know I never will understand that special look in your eyes.

You move yourself closer to me, the pain making its' appearance in your face. With one hand on my chest and steady eye contact, you close the distance between us with such a graceful and swift motion. Your lips are cold and have dry skin on them, but they're also wet and yearning. At first I'm careful; I don't know what to do. I pull you closer to me and you don't protest, I let my tongue grace your lips and you don't say no.

This unbelievable feeling bursts out of me, this inner sensation of complete power and immense fear is overwhelming and... exciting! My body feels so much more, every nerve is experiencing and every sense is recording, I'm shaking in my arms and while I am in control – I am nowhere near control. It's all going so slowly, so terrifyingly slow. I feel as if I can taste you, taste your essence on your lips. I'm so careful, so very careful as I take a firmer grip of your arm. I can feel your calm pulse, such an opposite to mine. I have such a longing for you, such a longing for what is you, a longing for what you are. It becomes apparent to me that you _are_, that you _exist_. How oddly beautiful and strange it is to be close to another being, one also made of blood and flesh. As our lips part, I pull you even closer; as if it would mean losing you if I didn't. You pull away from me just slightly and I feel your breath upon my face. It's almost cold in comparison to my skin. I say it.

" Why is it that forbidden fruit always seems to taste the best? "

You pause.

" Why would a fruit be forbidden? " you say, " Nature has no such law, if it isn't there for you to taste and enjoy, who's the one to decide you are not allowed to? "

You kiss me before I have a chance to reply.

* * *

I dream of wonderful things. I dream of getting lost, but not lost in confusion this time. I get lost in a dark forest. All around me is a warm and dark atmosphere, a seemingly uncomfortable and stressful situation – only it isn't. I literally stroll through the woods, mjölnir in a tight grasp. My body is tense, but still I am calm. There's a certain flow within me that wasn't there before. I can't look around me, I can only look forward. It seems I have a path I must walk, a path I cannot stray from. Although I find this lack of control alarming, I cannot help but register the feeling of relief that washes over me as I realize I do not have to use any strength to walk on. More is consumed by fighting the path, so I just shut myself off from the world and lay back, watching.

I watch through my eyes, but they do not see things as I see them. They seem... Different, strange, but not uncomfortably strange or frighteningly strange. It's a familiar kind of strangeness, one I want to embrace as much as I want to push it away. This strangeness, it's lose. It's unstructured, it's unsystematic; it breaks any rules I have ever encountered before. Oh why, why can I not comprehend? Why do I feel a need to understand and a need to run away?

Suddenly, it becomes stressful. I keep walking seemingly undisturbed, but inside of me I am bursting with confusion once again. I cannot understand this world, why is it so odd? Why is it so incomprehensible?

That is when I realize I am dreaming, and wake up with a very sudden movement.

You are not beside me. Your neatly folded clothes are gone and your helmet as if it had never been here in the first place. I feel a sudden headrush and have to lie down again, my eyebrows furrow. I feel a sharp pain in my forehead and let out a grunt; maybe I haven't drunken enough water?

" Guard! " I command with a booming voice.

The sound of rustling chains and armour is heard from outside the door and soon enough a young lad enters, his face slightly nervous.

" Bring me water! " I yell, hand on my forehead as if that would soothe my pain. I feel that I have certainly woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. The headache is ticking in my forehead, ticking with the sound of an aggravated wasp that closes in on its' target. It vibrates and I feel small waves of fever coming in, very much like the tide.

He doesn't even dare reply and vanishes quicker than I can blink. My neck is tense and I try to relax, but to no avail. I take a deep breath, but it helps very little. Very soon a different guard is back with a large jug of water.

" Where's Loki? " I grunt as I take it from his hands. " Where's my brother? "

I start to drink the water in large gulps as the guard calmly tells me that you are in your study, that you asked for your breakfast to be brought there as soon as possible and after entering you have not left, not even once. I catch a glimpse of the guard I yelled at only moments ago by the door, peaking inside at what seems to be his superior. When our eyes meet he quickly withdraws, not daring to risk my fury. Somehow, that calms me.

I finish the water and give the jug to the guard, " Tell my mother I'm up and that there's no reason to worry. "

With a curt nod, he leaves the room and closes the door behind him. I get up from the bed, slightly unbalanced and look around for my clothes and armour. They are no longer scattered on the floor, but piled up neatly just by the end of the bed. Although my head is still pulsing with these mental wasps, I manage to smile just slightly and sit down again. I can't make myself move. I look at the clothes and feel completely unmotivated to dress, unmotivated to move at all. I just look, and look. While looking, I slowly start to relive the moments of the night. The air is cold around me, but as I start to relive my memories, I feel heat build up inside me. The shaking feeling is back and as much as I want to lie back, get rid of my headache and relive these moments, I also feel a great need to see you.

Willpower like never before, I manage to get up and get dressed. The headache slowly goes away, but not entirely. I call for another jug of water to be brought to your study.

As I make my way over there, as I walk through the Golden halls and corridors; I am struck by how quiet it is. There's no discussion, no shouts, no laughter. I see people as usual; people who are studying, people who are drinking, people who are just sitting... But no one says a word. Not one sentence, word or syllable, not one at all. And no one dares to meet my gaze as I let my eyes wander around me. They're all where they usually are, but not doing what they're usually doing.

It has been so long since father slept.

I have almost forgotten the change of atmosphere, the change of life. Asgard is always a lively place, as long as father is awake. Father is the source of all life in Asgard, decent from Jotun or not; asgardians consider only Odin, Vili and Vé to be their fathers and they, together, created the midgardians. I wonder if Midgard ever feel father's sleep. Do they feel his wisdom as much as my thunder? Do they feel him as much as Asgard does?

I've just about reached your study when the jug of water that I sent for arrives. I empty it within seconds and return it to the guard who runs off once again. I take a deep breath, try to relax and knock on your door.

It takes a while for you to answer. It's not very uncommon; usually you're absorbed in your studies and unwillingly take your time to open the door. But this time I hear your rise at once; your footsteps pause before the door for a few moments, and then you open it.

Our eyes meet. You look completely different from this very night. When I saw you lie in bed, you were coughing blood and smiling weakly at me. Now your back is straight, your eyes alert and your stance shows no signs whatsoever of any injuries while I still feel a slight weight on my chest after the load of magic you lunged at me yesterday.

" Yes, brother? " you say in a very superior kind of way, only slightly emphasizing on the word 'brother', giving it a very unintelligible meaning. I throw a look over your shoulder and see that your desk is empty.

" Brother, " I reply. I say no more.

My hand is resting on the door frame and I shift the weight from one leg to the other. My hair falls in front of my face from behind my ears and I realize how dirty it is. It's greasy after sweating and fighting and as I notice this, I can see that you do the same.

" A bath perhaps, brother? "

What are you up to?

" Yes, maybe, " I reply and pull it back behind my ears again. Your eyes never leave me; they follow me through the action and then stay to rest on my face. Never before have I ever wanted to know so desperately what you're thinking of. What is it brother? What is on your mind? Why are you being so cryptic? Are you full of regret? Are you playing with me? Why do your eyes never give you away like my own always do? Why do I feel like you're seeing through every fibre of my body at this very moment? " Is there... "

You raise an eyebrow. You're mastering the conversation, as always.

" Is there any chance you would care for... for... "

You're eyes say _spit it out already_ without even changing. Do you want me to say it? Is that it? Is that what you're urging me to do?

" For arranging a real feast tonight? "

You look intrigued. Am I playing your game right?

" A feast? For what? "

For once, you're not too sure what I am playing at. Neither am I.

" Always when father sleeps, there is such unbearable silence in Asgard, " I say, picking my words carefully. " and I want the people to try to break through that, to have a good time although Odin is not there for the moment, to remind them that he will be back sooner or later. "

" And exactly what, " you say swiftly, " would my task be? "

You cross your arms, your head slightly cocked to the side.

" Food, " I say. " Food, drink and entertainment – that is all one needs in times of depression, is it not? Conjure up the greatest feast there ever has been in these halls and let me care for the rest. Let there be ale, mead and wine, bloody meat and salted fish – every delicacy you can ever think of. Pork; grilled, cooked or even raw, everything is welcome! "

You look at my smile with analytic eyes. I meet your gaze with enormous curiosity – am I doing this right? Am I playing your game right?

" Very well, " you say and uncross your arms, turning your back to me and walking towards your desk. " I shall have it all ready for tonight, it shouldn't be such a hard task to do something that has been done a million times before in Asgard, probably even in someone's sleep... "

" Good luck brother. And as I said, I will take care of the rest. "

I turn my back on you as well without closing the door, but after only a few steps I call your name.

" Oh, and Loki, make sure it looks delicious. I want them to drool rivers upon entering the hall! "

" Of course, Thor, " you reply with a feeble smile while walking towards the door to close it.

" And also... " I say. " Make sure you get all the details right, I always liked them apples to go with the pork, nothing like traditions – is there? I'm off to my bath, I will see you tonight. "

Out of the corner of my eye, I see you break into a genuine smirk before closing your door. I think I just played your game right.


End file.
